


False Dawn

by Crawlingthroughashes



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Emotional Manipulation, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, On-mode, Post 'Runaways', dark themes, dubcon, healing process
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-04-16 14:57:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4629522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crawlingthroughashes/pseuds/Crawlingthroughashes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was his smile, his touch, his warmth... but it wasn't <i>him</i>.</p><p>  <span class="small">Hollow, mind-numbing panic begins to percolate through Bart's skin. His heart throbs, shuddering in attempts to break free of the prison his chest has suddenly become. The back of his throat tastes caustic from the hot surge of bile. He swallows it back down, clearing his throat. "How long?" Some part of his mind, the logical part, already knows, but he can't accept it. Isn't willing to. He wants to foolishly believe it hasn't been that long, because that makes the taste of guilt milder, but he knows, he <i>knows.</i> </span></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Incendiary

The lamplight hums as Bart speeds past it, the faint light casting a rosy overtone to his alabaster skin. The night air is cool, drawing out color across the bridge of his cheeks, the tip of his nose, but he's long since gotten used to the sensation of wind burn. 

He only finally skids to a stop when he reaches a nondescript building on the outskirts of town. It's not a large building, not by any means, but it's where Blue Beetle logged in after his lasted mission, and that makes it the most important location in the world.

Bart's hands smooth across his sides, searching absentmindedly for pockets that his suit doesn't have, as he approaches the back door. There aren't any glass window panes along the building, but Bart's familiarized himself with this type of bunker to know that somewhere along it is a hidden security camera. 

When he types in a code at the door and passes through the doorway, a monotone voice calls out, "Impulse, B23." The flavorless voice of the computer reverberates through the quiet space, and Bart almost doesn't catch the subtle shift of floorboards from across the room. 

A tall silhouette hugs the wall, ensconced in shadow. Bart's heart picks up, but the amber eyes don't scare him the way they used to. Now, they mostly just excite him. 

"Hey, Blue," he calls out, his voice rough from disuse. Left to his own devices, he hadn't had much use for his vocal chords. The own dark intensity of his thoughts was the only sound he'd needed on the way here, and the deceitfully cheerful sound of his voice was unnecessary when he was alone. 

"Bart," the other voice says in recognition, the single syllable sounding tight and husky and lightly accented. "What are you doing here?" 

"Don't sound so happy to see me," he answers with a teasing inflection in his voice. It's not hard to pretend around Jaime. Somehow, it never has been. 

Blue Beetle finally emerges from the shadows, head cocked to the side, and armor retracted to below the neck. "I thought you were with Flash." 

He shrugs. "I was. Now I'm with you." 

"Uh... Why? I thought you were dealing with some earthquake." 

"Yep," Bart crosses his ankles. "It was only, like, a 4.0 on the Richter scale. No big deal. How were things with you? And the Runaways, or whatever?" He tries not to make it sound like he already knows _all_ about how Jaime's mission went, like he _hasn't_ already read the report Jaime filled in, or inquired the Team where Jaime was, was Jaime okay, et cetera. 

Jaime closes the space between them, but still somehow maintains a respectful distance. "It went okay." His eyebrows are scrunched in a line that manages to convey both frustration and uncertainty, and Bart's not sure what to make of that. 

"Oh. You sure?"

" _Sí._ " 

"Well, it's just you kinda look kind of... you know." Bart gesticulates with his hands for emphasis. 

This seems to only to confuse Jaime more, because his frown stays intact. "I'm just... I guess, a bit confused right now. I don't know. A... a lot on my mind, really." 

Bart nods a bit too fast, his features blurring at the edges. "Oh, I get it. I totally do," the words sort of tumble out of his mouth before his brain can process them. "It's hard with the Reach still out there and everything, but trust me, I'll keep you from feeling the mode. I promise." He's reassuring himself as much as he is Jaime. 

A muscle in the older teen's face jumps, as if he bit down on his cheek, or something. He exhales heavily. "I appreciate that Bart, really I do, but that's not really what's bothering me." 

"Oh." All of the raw, nervous energy in Bart sort of deflates. "What exactly _is_ bothering you?" 

"It's kind of personal," he mutters, staring at his armored feet, before risking a glance at Bart's reaction. Bart schools his features into a neutral look, but a flash of hurt must still leak through, because Jaime sighs again. "Look, I swear it's nothing major. It's just that worrying about being on-mode pretty much totally consumed my thoughts for a while, but I'm not worried about that anymore. The scarab's been _silencioso_ since Green Beetle y'know, and now I'm just thinking about... other things." 

"Other things?" Bart prompts, and he knows he's being pushy, really, he does, but he can't bring himself to let the conversation die out just yet. He just doesn't understand what could be bothering Jaime more than the imminent Reach invasion. How can he not still be worried about losing control of his self, of being used like a puppet by the alien AI grafted to his spine? 

Jaime closes his eyes. "Honestly, ese, I should've seen it coming sooner, but I only started realizing recently that I sort of, u-um..." his voice tapers off. He looks unsure. _Scared_ , is the only real word Bart can put to his expression.  
Jaime sucks in a ragged breath, before starting again. "I like someone." 

Those three words hit Bart like a punch to the gut, and he takes a step back before he realizes what he's doing. He hadn't prepared himself for that. He hadn't even imagined this conversation ever taking place. The logical part of his mind knew, all along, that Jaime's a regular teenager at heart. He probably gets asked out by girls on a regular basis, and maybe even says 'yes' on occasion. There's no reason for Bart to be reacting like this, but he can't help but feel like Jaime's dropped a bomb on him. Those three hoarse words shake him and rattle his bones more than the tremors from the earth quake had. 

Jaime's still looking at him, surveying his reaction, and Bart knows he's supposed to respond. The only problem is, he's not really sure _how_. 

"Oh," he replies dumbly. He's officially the worst friend in any timeline, ever. He's supposed to be supportive, supposed to try to allay Jaime's insecurities, assure him that no girl in their right mind wouldn't want him because he's... he's _Jaime_. 

Jaime Reyes, with tousled black hair, and glossy chestnut brown eyes, and a strong, handsome face. Jaime, whose laugh his hard to evoke, but the most beautiful, full-bodied sound when he does finally allow himself to relax enough to truly let loose and _laugh_. Jaime, whose body is sculpted from work as a superhero, whose smile is tentative, and a little wobbly in a way that makes it all the more genuine. Jaime, who rolls his eyes when Bart teases him, and brushes off his lingering touches with a fond smile, and resorts to Spanish when he's frustrated or nervous. 

Jaime Reyes—whose face is practically ingrained on the back of Bart's eyelids—has a crush on someone. 

A feeling of nausea slithers in between Bart's organs, before giving them a painful squeeze. His heart feels dangerously close to bursting. 

When he does open his mouth, nothing comes out but a breathless expulsion of air. 

Jaime leans back on his heels, looking somewhat disappointed. "I know. I _know_. It's so stupid. _Mierda_. It's like I can't even think straight recently." Jaime pauses, cringing inwardly. "Actually, I really, _really_ haven't been thinking straight." 

Bart licks his lips, trying to wet them. "Oh. Okay." 

"This... this isn't fair to you, Bart. I get if you don't want to be around me, or whatever." 

Bart's body moves of its own accord, lurching forward to set a hand on each of Jaime's shoulders. He can feel the cool metal armor through his gloves. "I don't want that. I-I mean, I don't want to _not_ be around you." He forces himself to inhale normally, but the breath seems to snag on his lungs. "I'm not going to judge you for having a crush on someone. And you don't owe me anything." He thought he'd been careful about keeping his feelings to himself. Sure, he was touchy with Jaime, but he was like that with everyone. No one else ever sent Bart's heart palpitating from touch alone, but he thought that was a fact no one else knew. Still, Jaime must have worked out Bart's feelings for him. And here he was trying not to hurt him, to let him down easy. It made things all the more difficult, though, because no one should be that caring, that considerate. 

"Bart, you don't—" Jaime starts, but Bart cuts in. 

"I won't blame you for liking someone. Even if it's not..." _Me._ That's what he wants to say. But he can't. The word gets stuck in his throat, and no matted how hard he swallows, he can't seem to dislodge it. 

"But I don't just like..." Jaime averts his gaze, eyebrows furrowed, and mouth down-turned. "Bart, I think I'm in love with you?" 

* * *

It was a Thursday, a week or so after they got Jaime back from the Reach ship. Bart wakes up that night feeling sweaty and gross and uncomfortably sticky, his chest squeezing painfully with guilt all the while. The images his brain had supplied him during his dream had been detailed and vivid, and he could only blame himself for having stared so much at a certain half-naked torso. _Jaime, shirtless after deactivating his armour... Jaime, shirtless after using the communal showers at Mount Justice... Jaime, dripping in sweat and shirtless after a sparring match..._

It's wrong, and sick, and he feels more than a bit disgusted with himself for harboring thoughts about his teammate, his _friend_ , whom he hasn't even known that long, but then images of his dream swirl to the forefront of his mind once more. He can see, clear as day, the warm, tanned body above his own, cool lips against his heated skin. He still feels guilty, but somehow can't bring himself to care all that much.

* * *

"Y-you what?" Bart asks, his green eyes comically wide.

Jaime's arms are folded protectively across his chest. "Just forget it. I'll get over it. Eventually," his assurance sounds flimsy, but the words don't even reach Bart's brain. He feels light-headed, certain that the oxygen is no longer properly traveling through his body. _Jaime just said he..._ Bart heard wrong. He heard him wrong, and that's the only possible explanation that makes sense because Jaime wouldn't... doesn't... _He doesn't._ How can he? Why would he? 

"Look, um, I'm just gonna zeta back home," Jaime mumbles. He sounds more disappointed than anything else. 

Bart watches him numbly as he pads across the quaint bunker in the direction of the zeta tubes, before murmuring, "You _like_ me?" He has to make sure. He needs to know if he heard wrong. He's not sure how he'll manage if Jaime says he doesn't, that it was a joke, or worse yet, a mistake. But those words never come. 

Jaime swivels on his heel. "Yeah." It's just a single word, but right now it's the only word Bart cares about. Jaime's watching him, searching for a reaction. All Bart can do is breathe out the Latino's name. 

Jaime looks surprised by the breathlessness in Bart's voice, the hitch in his voice. Bart says his name again, this time with more conviction. To his own ears, it sounds hopeful, like a prayer. The rock in Bart’s stomach is liquefying, a liquid fire in his stomach that sparks to life. 

Bart forces himself to breathe through the sudden excitement flaring up inside of himself. "I like you too."

Jaime's eyes dance over Bart's face, searching for something. He must find whatever he's looking for. His footfalls are heavy as he crosses back towards Bart, his expression still somewhat tentative and unsure. 

"Do you really mean that?" 

"Uh, doy," he says, and he can't believe Jaime just confessed to _him_ , that Jaime is the one feeling insecure, and not the other way around. "I thought... I thought you already knew." About his feelings. His seemingly hopeless one-sided crush.

Jaime shakes his head wordlessly. 

"Oh. Well I guess... Wait, _you're gay_?" he all but screeches as the realization fully hits him. 

Jaime looks mildly annoyed. "I thought we just established that." 

Bart's mouth opens and closes like a fish. "I can't believe you're _gay!_ " Jaime had always looked flustered or embarrassed when Bart touched him, quick to shrug him off when Bart would sling a careless arm around his shoulders. He'd never leaned into Bart's touch, or responded to Bart's flirtatious comments.

"So are you!" Jaime exclaims. "And technically, _hermano,_ I'm bi." He tenses. "And I think I should probably stop calling you 'hermano.'" 

"What? Why?" 

Jaime scratches the back of his neck, a flustered look returning to his face. "It's sort of Spanish for brother?" 

'Brother.' Jaime originally viewed Bart as a brother. The thought makes him so uncomfortable he almost squirms. He could accept being friend-zoned, if that was even a thing, but brother-zoned? Not crash at all.  
"That's... that's some interesting fetish you have, Jaime." 

"Wha—it's not... In Spanish 'hermano' is used like 'bro,' or just a word for someone that's close to you." 

Bart feels his shoulders relax. "Oh. I guess that's alright then. But, um, if you're not going to call me that anymore, what _are_ you going to call me?" 

Jaime's eyes stare into Bart's, and the speedster can see a sudden heat blazing in Jaime's pupils. He chances another step towards Bart, so that they're breathing the same air, and tasting each other's breath. "I was thinking maybe something along the lines of _amorcito_ , or _cariño_." 

Bart's not entirely certain what either of those words mean, but there's so much heat behind them, and the way they flick off of Jaime's tongue is enough to make him inhale sharply. "O-okay," he squeaks out. He's starting to feel weak from the look Jaime's giving him. They've been in close proximity before, but never like this. Heat radiates off of Bart's body, and his pulse has been faster than normal practically since arriving at the bunker. They're so close right now, if either of them leaned in a millimetre more, their lips would be...

Bart's eyes widen at the sudden pressure against his mouth

...touching. 

Jaime pulls back, breaking the kiss, but clearly not ending it. He gives Bart a moment to react, before he's leaning back in, slotting their mouths together at a different angle. 

Distantly, it occurs to Bart that this is his first kiss. 

Jaime's lips are both soft and chapped, his bottom lip jutted out in a way that just asks for it to be ravished. Their mouths suck and slide against each other, and there's more than a modicum of heat behind the kiss. It's Bart's first kiss, maybe Jaime's too, and their movements are definitely clumsy, but also passionate. Passionate and heated, and the way Jaime's looking at him... It makes Bart's heart hiccup in a pleasant way, because Jaime's looking at him like he's desirable. As if he's not just the most desirable thing alive, but the most desirable thing that's ever existed. His head is swimming, his knees trembling. They break a part to gasp in air, and Bart affixes his hands to Jaime's shoulders. Right now, Jaime's weight is the only thing that's keeping him upright. 

Their lips rejoin, seeking that increasingly familiar wet heat. Jaime nips at Bart's bottom lip, and his mouth falls open in surprise. It seems that's what Jaime wanted all along, because his tongue is instantly licking inside his mouth. 

At first, the feeling of a tongue inside the velvet heat of his mouth is an odd sensation. He thinks maybe it's kind of weird, at least right away, but it feels good— _how could Jaime_ not _feel good?_ —and Bart wants this. He hasn't even known Jaime for all that long, but he wants this, so, so much, more than he's ever wanted anything before, and it kind of scares him. 

It's strange to think that he's here, making out with the very person he came back in time to stop, but the universe is nothing if not capricious. There's probably a higher power, a god somewhere, laughing at the irony of their situation. 

Jaime's hands move to cup Bart's face, his calloused hands firm and confident. His thumbs caress Bart's cheekbones, tongue still delving into Bart's mouth. A moan escapes Bart's throat, and he can' even bother to feel embarrassed. He feels Jaime's lips twitch into a smirk against his, before they're moving to the corner of Bart's mouth, along his jaw, down his throat. 

"J-Jaime," he gasps. "Y-you feel so good." 

He doesn't even register that they've moved until he feels his back push against a wall. Jaime's body presses against his, cornering him. It's almost too much, hearing Jaime's ragged breathing, seeing his hungry eyes. Too much, and not enough. 

Jaime tugs Bart's uniform lower, providing himself more access. His swollen lips travel downwards, before coming to a stop along Bart's clavicle. He runs his teeth along his collarbone, before giving a hard suck. Bart gasps again. 

_"J-Jaime."_

The delicious pressure leaves him, and suddenly Jaime's hands are tilting Bart's chin up, forcing him to meet his eyes. "Tell me to stop." His voice is a mixture of what Bart assumes is both uncertainty and determination. 

Bart licks his lips, not missing how Jaime's eyes follow the movement. "I don't want you to." He doesn't even recognize the sound of his own voice. It sounds raw and broken, but also honest and open. 

That's all Jaime needs to hear before he returns to Bart's neck. He sucks and bites at the skin, leaving a discolored patch where the skin was once pale. 

"C'mon, Blue," Bart whines, squeezing his still covered shoulders. Jaime doesn't seem to realize what he's asking at first. Bart can feel liquid heat pooling in his chest. It feels so good touching Jaime, _kissing him_ , but he's practically aching for the feel of Jaime's bare skin against his. 

Jaime obliges, shedding his armor without protest. After all, It isn't as if he hasn't seen Jaime shirtless before. The blue-and-black armor recedes, and all the air in Bart's lungs dissolves. He almost chokes on his saliva. It's somehow different now that he's allowed to look, different because Jaime isn't shirtless for practical reasons, but simply because Bart wants him to be. That expanse of light brown skin, the tight, muscled stomach... it's for Bart to see, for his eyes to memorize and drink up. He curses, which is not something he does often. 

Jaime raises a teasing eyebrow. "Like what you see, _ese_?" 

Bart whines, incapable of producing a coherent response. He stares, not daring to blink, lest Jaime disappear and prove this whole thing to be some wild, wonderful fantasy. He stares, at a loss of what to do next. Jaime smiles at him, tugging at Bart's pale wrist and bringing his hand to his chest. Bart's hand splays across the naked skin, soaking up the warmth. His movements are jerky, shaky, as he lets his hand explore the contours of Jaime's well defined abs. Jaime makes an encouraging noise, and Bart shudders at the way Jaime's stomach expands and contrasts when he breathes. He slowly brings his other hand to Jaime's torso, moving his hands up and down. Jaime arches into his touch, and Bart feels all the blood in his body travel southward. His eyes flick downwards, embarrassed at himself, and it's then that he comes to the realization that:  
1\. all of Jaime's armor disappeared, not just the armor on his upper body,  
and 2. he isn't wearing the usual pair of jeans underneath his armor.  
The fabric of Jaime's boxers is a slate grey. Suddenly, Bart feels disoriented, because somehow, seeing Jaime so exposed, witnessing that he's just as aroused, makes the whole thing that much more real. 

Jaime hesitates, his words sounding mechanical. "If... if you want to stop, let me know."

Bart pauses for a fraction of a second. Maybe it is best if they stop. Better if they don't rush into things. Better if they wait until this is actually legal. He doesn't even want to imagine what grandpa Barry would say if he found out that Bart carelessly gave away his virginity the same day he had his first kiss. This is going too fast. They should stop. He's getting dizzy from the sight of Jaime alone, and he's not sure he's quite ready. He's inexperienced, that much is obvious, and he knows how this whole thing is supposed to work, but... But they can afford to wait. Right now they should focus on saving the world, let their feelings progress when there isn't crushing fear weighing in on them from all sides. He wants this, wants Jaime in any and every way he can have him, and he's certain he always will, but they can wait. He's not about to let either of them die anytime soon, so they can wait. Jaime is waiting patiently, waiting for him to either continue, or announce they stop. He doesn't _want_ to stop, but he knows it's best if they do. 

Bart lets out a resigned sigh, about to say all this to Jaime, when the words shrivel up and die in his throat. The air around him is suddenly hazy, and he feels dizzy. But not like the dizziness from before. This is full, room-spinning dizziness, but the only thing not blurring and spinning is Jaime. Bart gets a good look at him for what feels like the first time. A light sheen of sweat covers his skin, and his lips are red and swollen-evidence of their earlier kissing. It's only now that the smell of Jaime fills his lungs. His scent is intoxicating. Bart practically stumbles into Jaime's chest. 

Jaime catches him, pulling him flush against him. "I want you so bad, Bart," Jaime hisses. "You have no idea."

"I think I do," Bart murmurs, dizzy and swimming under the copious hormones shrouding his senses. If Jaime wants him even half as much as Bart craves _him._..

"Your uniform," Jaime murmurs, reaching blindly for a zipper along Bart's back, but the speedster shakes him off, still feeling weak and dizzy. It's not just that. He's also cold, chilled to his very bone, except where his skin is making direct contact with Jaime. It's like the older teen is the only one in the room with body heat.  
"Don't worry about it, Blue. I can vibrate out of it."

Jaime's hooded eyes widen incrementally as he watches Bart do just that. He phases out of his uniform, leaving himself in nothing more than boxers. Jaime squeezes Bart's hips possessively, and Bart feels like there's almost something not quite right about the smirk he's wearing. 

He doesn't dwell on it, he _can't_ , not when Jaime's once again kissing him with tongue and teeth and heat. He's still shaking when white pulses across his vision.

"S-sorry," Bart stutters out once he's able to regain his wits. Jaime's watching him almost amusedly. "I know that was really fast," Bart begins, ducking his head, "but I... it's a speedster thing. I'll be, y'know, again in like a second."

"So... come fast, rebound fast?" Jaime's eyes rove over Bart.

"Yeah, that's pretty much the gist of it," he breathes. He still feels somehow off. There's a small voice in the back of his mind advising him to stop, but it's grown faint, and he can't stop. Doesn't want to, and just can't. 

A smirk plays on Jaime's lips. He leans in real close, his lips just barely brushing against the shell of Bart's ear.  
"Next time you won't be coming in your boxers," He whispers, his breath warm where it fans across Bart's sensitive skin.  
A shiver rolls down Bart's spine, but before his brain can fully latch onto the words, Jaime has reclaimed his mouth, only pulling back to whisper, "You're mine." 

* * *

The next Team meeting they have, Bart is jittery and nervous the whole time. Jaime doesn't spare a glance in his direction, his eyes firmly locked on Nightwing, but Bart is still nervous. He hasn't breathed a word about his and Jaime's newly defined relationship, and he's quite certain Jaime hasn't, either, but what if someone else is just able to tell? What if the whole Team finds out? Word will get back to his grandparents, and a lecture will ensue and... Is their type of relationship even considered okay in this timeline? Bart knows that at one point in time, being openly gay could even get you killed, but the history books in his timeline hadn't exactly specified which era that happened in.

He drums his fingers along his side, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Jaime's hand snakes out, and gives his a squeeze, but his eyes don't leave Nightwing's face. Some of the tension bleeds out of Bart's shoulders. The hand-holding is such a small gesture, one no one else has noticed, but it manages to calm him down. 

* * *

"Beta squad is en route to the key chamber," Blue Beetle announces. Bart hears his voice spoken aloud and through the psychic link, magnifying the sound so that it's all Bart can hear. "We snag the crystal key, and the threat ends." The sure confidence in his tone assuages any of Bart's worries. Their goal is simple, attainable. They can do this.

But it still doesn't make any sense. Before coming to the past, Bart had read up on everything he could on it. He learned that the six main Leaguers: Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, Hawkwoman, Green Lantern, and Martian Manhunter mysteriously disappear before the brunt of the Invasion. He knew that the Blue Beetle was the one that secured Earth for the Reach. He knew that the Reach arrived on Earth some time before January 6, 2016. But he had never even heard of Mongul, or the Warworld. He sincerely hopes that's a good sign. If the Warworld didn't even make it into the history books, maybe it means that it won't have much of an impact on humanity. 

He inhales deeply, adjusting his goggles as he runs alongside Jaime and Gar. He feels adrenaline kick in, making him sharp and aware. The three of them round the corner, where a bombardment of floating, red isometric drones await them. Taking the drones out wouldn't prove too difficult of an endeavor if there weren't _so many._ Bart launches one of the drones into a small cluster, and the sound is akin to metal on metal—a gritty, screeching wail. He watches from the corner of his eyes as Gar descends on a drone, his green talons raking across the metallic surface and damaging the integral structure. 

Each exploding drone releases a sound like kernels of popcorn being heated. Incessant burst of lights flare across Bart's vision as he strikes at the drones at super speed. 

"There's no stopping them," he says frustratedly, and Gar lets out a squawk of sympathy, unable to generate human sounds with his current state. Which is that of a bird. 

Blue continues to blast at the drones with his plasma cannon, and from the nanosecond Bart stares at him, he sees determination set behind amber lenses. 

He doesn't stop moving. 

They gradually push past into the next hallway, then the next, and Bart slowly becomes cognizant of just how big the Warworld is. Their mission is beginning to seem fruitless. There's no end to the labyrinth of tunnels. This mission is as pointless as a room with no door, and maze with no exit. There's no stopping Mongul anytime soon. Not from their end, anyway.

Eventually, Gar shifts into a gorilla, his gargantuan sized fists suited for pummeling the drones to chunks of deformed metal. Bart wants to voice his thoughts aloud, about just how ineffective their method of attack is, but he doesn't. He doesn't because Jaime is still here, fighting alongside him, and until he gives up hope, Bart won't either. 

He doesn't know how much longer it is that they fight. 

His perception of time has always been off. It's difficult to have an acute judgement of time when capable of speeding moments up and slowing them down. 

All he cares about is how the drones all clatter to the floor, completely and utterly disabled. 

"So crash!" he exclaims, high-fiving Gar once the shapeshifter has changed back to his human form. He turns to Jaime, expecting the same enthusiasm, but his... his _boyfriend_ is fixated on something else. He watches as Blue strides towards a golden beam of light with a crystal object suspended in its center. 

"I'll just take this for safe keeping." There's an edge to his voice, one that's surely some concentrated form of relief. Bart grins up at Blue, and the smile is returned. Gar is already making his way out of the room. Jaime stares after Beast Boy's retreating form, before reaching up to stroke Bart's face. 

"Your goggles were a bit... askew," he says by way of explanation. 

"Uh huh. Sure." Bart leans into the touch, reveling in the careful way Jaime touches him. 

"Come on," Jaime tugs him forward. "We should meet up with the rest of the Team.

Today's fight is luckily over. 

An atmosphere of calm seems to soak the air around everyone. Or at least an aura of easiness. The current threat has been dealt with, and now there are hugs and fist bumps and laughter to be shared. Bart watches everyone with a small smile. It's small and timid, not exaggerated and _fake_. He's starting to feel trust binding him to his teammates. Real trust that fits through the cracks of his doubt and remolds him into a stronger version of himself. He's never felt closer to a group of people than he is now, but trauma does bring people closer together. 

It's safe here, but a part of Bart still feels tense, and old and bitter part of him that refuses to ever relax. That distrustful part of him is like scar tissue that refuses to properly heal. _'Hypervigilance,'_ is what Black Canary had called it. 

He inhales deeply, and that breath tastes of calm and safety. But he doesn't get the chance to breathe out. 

That lungful of air gets trapped in his chest, and the next thing he knows, he's falling forwards, a splitting pain thundering against his head. He falls to the cold floor, falls to a world of muffled blackness and white noise. 

* * *

Bart blinks his eyes open, his head screaming in pain. He reaches weakly to feel along the back of his head. His hair is stuck in clumps of coagulated blood. He feels a bump, but that doesn't make any sense. Why haven't his healing abilities kicked in? There's a weight around his neck, and his searching fingers come into contact with the metal of an inhibitor collar. He tries to maneuver himself into an upright position, but fails miserably. It's then that he notices he's not alone.

"Jaime?" his whimpers. He's not alone. Jaime's here, which means it's going to be okay, because Jaime would never, _ever_ let something bad happen to him. 

Jaime smirks down at him, and it's odd, really, because the only time Bart can ever recall seeing that look on Jaime's face was that night when they... 

Bart feels all the blood drain from his face. He mouths for air that successfully evades him. There's something not right. But he doesn't figure out what at first, because his thoughts are muddled, his head foggy. It's only now that he wonders why Jaime was still at that bunker. Why he stayed there all alone, instead of going home after logging in his mission report. Why he chose that moment to confess to Bart. It's odd because Jaime had been so flustered and hesitant when he confessed, but had been so quick to initiate physical contact. Now that Bart thought about it, Jaime's words had almost seemed rehearsed. 

Bart knows even before he meets Blue Beetle's eyes that it's true. 

_"You're not Jaime."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please tell me your thoughts, i live off feedback


	2. Aftermath

_"You're not Jaime."_

Dark eyes regard him coolly from behind amber lenses. Blue Beetle hums, and it's a thoughtful sound, not brazenly mocking like Bart knows it must be. "Hmm, and what if I'm not?" 

Hollow, mind-numbing panic begins to percolate through Bart's skin. His heart throbs, shuddering in attempts to break free of the prison his chest has suddenly become. The back of his throat tastes caustic from the hot surge of bile. He swallows it back down, clearing his throat. "How long?" Some part of his mind, the logical part, already _knows_ , but he can't accept it. Isn't willing to. He wants to foolishly believe it hasn't been that long, because that makes the taste of guilt milder, but he knows, he _knows_. 

Blue Beetle doesn't respond, just continues to observe Bart, drinking up his expression with the gusto of a man that has wandered the desert a thousand years in search of drink. He's probably waiting for Bart to come to his own conclusion (which he already has). He's playing with him, toying with Bart even now. Blue Beetle's eyes drift across Bart's face, memorizing the crease along his nose, the horror glazing his stricken eyes, committing the expression to memory. He's not exactly grinning at Bart, but his lips aren't a neutral line, either. 

Bart tries to gulp in air, but it doesn't work. Either his lungs fail him, or there isn't enough air in the room, he doesn't know. He tries again and again to breathe, and Blue Beetle watches him. He must be getting a kick out of watching Bart struggle. He probably looks pathetic, sprawled across the ground, panicking and distressed. No, Bart amends. He _definitely_ looks pathetic. He makes a frustrated noise, and that's when Blue Beetle bends down, heaving Bart to his feet. Black spots drip across his vision, but aside from the initial dizziness, his head feels clearer now that he's standing. 

"What happened?" Bart demands, trying to distance his thoughts from... He swallows. "Where's the rest of the Team? Did the Reach ambush us? Is that when you were put on-mode?" His words sound naïve, even to himself. 

Blue Beetle chuckles at this. "No, _cariño_. The Reach didn't ambush the Team. I did. As for where they are," he pauses for effect, "they're in stasis." 

"They're what?" Bart repeats.

Blue Beetle flashes a grin, the brilliant white of his teeth contrasting sharply with the black armor on his face. "It was a short battle. Maybe if they had Impulse there to run and get help, things would've ended differently. But you were, unfortunately, incapacitated." 

Bart grits his teeth, clenching his eyes shut. _Not now. Don't cry. Not in front of him. Do_ not _cry._ His body doesn't seem eager to cooperate, because tears are spilling over despite his silent pleads. 

"Are you crying?" Blue Beetle asks with mock surprise. "If the future only knew how quickly their one last hope was reduced to tears." 

Something inside of Bart snaps, because Blue's words hit a little too close to home. He doesn't need Blue's words to know this. He's so, _so_ pathetic, he honestly can't believe he thought he could do this, thought he could actually rewrite history. He was so quick to believe, to accept that the Scarab had really fallen silent. He got careless and believed Green Beetle because he wanted an easy way out. He thought he could do this. But he can't. He failed. But the selfish part of him knows that the fall of humanity isn't even what's bothering him the most. "You're still in there, Jaime." His voice cracks. "I know you are."

"Yes," Blue Beetle says. "And what do you think Jaime Reyes will say if he does somehow regain control? Will he even be able to look at you knowing how you took advantage of his body?" Blue Beetle's words bury deep in Bart's bloodstream. 

"I..." His throat constricts at a dangerous rate, incapable of producing any further words. 

Blue leans closer, and Bart's legs nearly give out. He's barely remaining upright as it is. He's weak and shaking, and he's certain his head is going to explode. "Did you seriously think Jaime Reyes was even... Mm, what is the politically correct term? Gay? Homosexual?"

Bart can't breathe. His lungs are collapsing in on themselves. He can't breathe, but maybe that's more of a relief than a problem.

"You know, you took something very special from him," he stares pointedly at Bart's lower half, a wry smile on his face. "Didn't you know Jaime's family is Catholic? Sex might've been something he wanted to save until after marriage, don't you think?"

Bart's heart jumps so high he can practically taste it on the back of his tongue. "I know you're in there," he all but whimpers. "And you have to know I'm _so_ sorry."

"Sorry?" Blue Beetle echoes with a rough laugh. The sound is empty, not full of life like Jaime's. "You're _sorry_ that you couldn't tell the difference between the real Jaime and the Reach puppet? Sorry that you took his virginity?"

He takes a step back, as if the words physically struck him. _No, no, no._ This can't be happening. He raises a hand to his face to brush a tear away, and it's only after he retracts it and it comes back soaked that he realizes just how hard he's been crying. "I'm sorry," he croaks again, and he hates that word so much because it's the only word he can think of to say in this situation but it's not solving anything.

"How old are you, anyway?" Blue Beetle Continues, as if he never even heard him. "Twelve? Thirteen?"

Bart takes a step back, narrowly avoiding stumbling, because, yes, he is thirteen. His birthday should be soon, though. He can't remember the exact day, because they don't celebrate birthdays in the future, and it might have already passed. He can't bring himself to look Blue Beetle in the eye. "They... they gave us these pills in the future that caused us to age and mature faster, so we'd be better equipped for slave labour. I may be thirteen but I'm really a lot closer to sixteen. My body's more developed, and I..." He's not sure why he's saying all this. Not sure why he's defending himself. Or why he's rising to the bait. Maybe it's because he's trying to find any possible way to assuage his guilt, because Jaime was— _is_ —so much more than a crush to him. He's his friend, his mission, the whole reason he came to the past. And now he's failed him. 

"So Jaime Reyes accomplished fooling around with a _mature_ thirteen year old?"

Dry nausea creeps up Bart's throat, and he's actively fighting not to gag now. A fresh wave of tears sting at his eyes, but he refuses to acknowledge them. "Why are you... Why did you do this? What do you get out of this?" 

Blue Beetle grins, and it's such a cruel leer, one he's sure Jaime wouldn't even be capable of making. "Satisfaction. But it's really a matter of bodily needs. There was a preexisting attraction from your end, so why not put it to use? And let's not forget how willing you were."

Bart raises a hand to his mouth as if to catch any of the throw-up that he's sure will spill over any second. 

"For the most part, anyways." 

Bart's head whips up so fast he's certain he'll get whiplash. Blue prattles on. 

"You hesitated at one point, looked like you were going to back out of what you'd already started, so I gave you a little push." 

_A push?_ "What do you mean by that?" Bart whispers. 

"Oh I think you already know." When Bart says nothing, Blue sighs irately. "Think, _Bart._ " 

* * *

“So, plasma beams, giant staple gun, flight… what all can that beetle of yours do?” Bart wonders casually. They’re lounging across the plush sofa in Mount Justice’s rec room. It’s been a mostly quiet week, with little to no new news on the Reach agenda. Bart carefully measures his voice, making sure it’s neutral, like he’s just asking for the sake of curiosity, but really, he’s preparing himself. He needs to know everything about the Big Bad Blue in case he ever…

"I don’t actually know,“ Jaime answers, screwing his mouth shut. He tilts his head, and it takes Bart a moment longer than it should to realize the scarab is talking to Jaime. Fear lances through him. Jaime is listening to the disembodied voice of the scarab that is destined to start the Reach apocalypse.

“Uh, okay,” Jaime says, voice reigning in Bart’s thoughts. “Well there’s energy blasts like you said, holo projection, scythe blades… And I can release pheromones?“

"Pheromones?” Bart echoes. “Like, what kind of pheromones?“ 

Jaime cringes. "The kind that affect the vomeronasal organ.”

Bart blinks. “ _Noideawhatyoujustsaid_.”

" _Dios mio._ Okay, so, apparently I can release pheromones using the scarab that affect perception of attractiveness.“ 

“So you can just ask the scarab to make someone turned on?" 

Jaime shuffles embarrassedly. "It’s not like I ever would.” 

_“Riiight,”_ Bart teases, but mostly he’s thinking about how Jaime could potentially use pheromones on him, and how that would actually be kind of hot. Not that he would ever outright admit that. Despite contrary belief, he did actually possess a brain-to-mouth filter.

* * *

"I still don't understand," Bart sounds petulant, like a small child, refusing to accept what he's already been told. So Blue used pheromones to affect his... his judgement, or whatever. But he still doesn't understand _why_. Why bother at all? Why make time in the important Reach agenda to toy with one Bart Allen?

His ignorance must amuse Blue, because he shakes his head as if this whole thing is endearing. Bart doesn't see his arm dart out until too late, and then he's being pulled in close. "You've spent the most time watching over Jaime Reyes. This was the best way to distract you from noticing anything was off. Give you something else to fill your attention span." Blue's hand strokes Bart's cheek, and he holds his face between his thumb and forefinger. Bart is too weak to push him away. "Distraction," Blue adds. "Surely that's a simple enough explanation for your simple mind to grasp." His callous words are exacerbated by that deceptively gentle touch. 

Bart closes his eyes, refusing to lean into Blue's touch, even if it feels only natural to do so. "Why am I here?" he mumbles. "Why didn't you just..." _Finish me off. Kill me. Leave me with the rest of the Team._

Blue's hold on his face tightens with bruising strength. "Like I said. Satisfaction." And the next thing he knows, Blue Beetle is mouthing along his neck. Shock ripples through the murkiness of Bart's concussion. Blue's armor is cool against his skin, but Jaime's mouth is warm, like it was before. Warm and attentive and addictive. Jaime shifts, his lips finding the soft skin at the juncture of Bart's neck, before biting down. Hard. Bart moans audibly. It hurts, but it's a welcome pain. Jaime's armored hands hold him firmly, and this is where he belongs. Here, with him. Jaime laps at the fresh wound on Bart's shoulder. He didn't break the skin, but it was hard enough to leave a mark. 

Bart tilts his head back, giving Jaime better access to move around the inhibitor collar. His lips mouth and suck, his teeth drag and bite, painting Bart's fair skin rosy and flushed and raw. 

_"Jaime,"_ Bart sighs, and he feels warm breath fan across his ear. It takes him a minute to realize that burst of warm breath was silent laughter. 

He struggles in the now suffocating grip. 

"You're so quick to forget, aren't you?" Jaime chuckles. "Just as I said before, all it takes a little push, and all the fight in you is gone." 

Bart pulls away, and Jaime lets him. Only, it's not Jaime. It's Blue Beetle. Bart repeats a silent mantra of _that's not Jaime, that's not Jaime, that'snotJaimethat'snotJaime_. But oh, how he wishes it was. 

He wraps his arms around himself, not knowing what else to do. He feels so weak, and his head hurts, and he's not use to the feeling of prolonged pain. His enhanced healing abilities have spared him from enduring slow-healing injuries. His skin has always been quick to re-knit itself, his bones able to regrow at alarming rates. Maybe it's his unfamiliarity with long-lasting pain that makes his head injury so intolerable. He coughs, not sure if he wants to cry or... or... There's nothing else he can do. He's too weak to run, and he wouldn't get very far with his powers turned off, anyway. He just stands hunched over, trying to find some shred of Jaime in the Blue Beetle's gaze. He's not sure if finding traces of the real Jaime would make this easier or all the more difficult. He just wants this moment to end. 

Blue Beetle seems to sense how hopeless Bart's become, how utterly numb, because he lets out a drawn-out sigh. "It's been fun, _mi amor_ , but we can play some other time." 

Bart swallows. He wants to ask what that means, what's supposed to happen next, when he hears the static of electricity, feels waves of shock burn through him. He blacks out, body twitching uncontrollably. 

* * *

Bart rubs circles around the reddened flesh of his neck, now absent of the inhibitor collar. There are a few new faces among them as they make their way to their ship. 

_The Runaways,_ his brain supplies. The only face out of them he bothers to look at is that of Tye Longshadow. Jaime mentioned his childhood friend enough for Bart to recognize him on sight. He wonders if Tye knows who he is, if Jaime's ever bothered to mention him. Probably not. It's not as if Jaime's even spent any time with Tye recently. 

Still, he half wishes Tye would come over and talk to him. Talk to him about Jaime. Assure Bart that it's not his fault, that Tye didn't realize Jaime wasn't himself, either. But he doesn't. He doesn't come over, and he doesn't talk to Bart. No one does. They're too wrapped up in their own thoughts to notice the guilt and nausea plaguing Bart. He can't say he blames them. 

The Runaways don't end up on the ship with them. Neither does Roy. The original, not the clone. 

As soon as they're inside the ship, Bart slumps to the floor. The engines rev, and before long, the Warworld is behind them, a meaningless fixture in the sky, like a nameless star or a faraway moon. 

The silence lasts for all of three seconds before, "I can't believe Jaime would do this!" Cassie balls her hands into fists as she surveys the group, as if selecting which person she wants to take her anger out on. Tim rests a placating hand on her shoulder, which she almost immediately shrugs off, not yet ready to calm down after her outburst. 

"He didn't," Bart hears himself say. His voice sounds quiet and muffled to his own ears, but everyone else seems to hear just fine.

"What do you mean?" Nightwing asks cautiously. He's dealt with speedsters before, but Bart is something of an anomaly to the Team's designated leader. Sometimes he fits the energetic speedster persona perfectly, and other times, he seems to retreat into some sort of dark corner that the rest of them have no chance of reaching. 

"Impulse," M'gann prods him gently. "We need you to tell us if something happened?" 

But Bart is miles away. He barely hears the request. If it's that important, M'gann will just scan his brain and they'll have the information they need. But they might also come across something Bart would really like to keep hidden. 

"Green Beetle..." Bart says simply, letting them figure the rest out for themselves. Except, he's certain Miss Martian and Nightwing, and maybe a few of the others, have already worked out that Green Beetle isn't as innocent as he claimed to be. "I would've figured it out earlier," Bart continues, eyes never leaving a point on the floor, "but I was... _distracted._ " He actually laughs at this, as if the word 'distracted' is an inside joke and not a knife buried in his side. 

He feels the uneasy gaze of his teammates sear into his skin, burning holes through him. He doesn't care. He can't bring himself to say anything else. He just hugs his knees to his chest, before closing his eyes. He hopes they'll get the hint. He doesn't want to talk right now. 

* * *

Jaime's face is everywhere. On the back of his eyelids, in his dreams, on billboards and news screens. It's not really Jaime's face, though. It's Blue Beetle's. But he's starting to accept that they're one and the same now. And it's entirely Bart's fault. This was his mission, his battle, and he lost.

He still has a little fight left in him, though.

"That's a lot of good press for a traitor." The words ignite something under his skin. 

"Hey," he snaps, momentarily coming back to life. Tim looks a little taken aback. "Don't blame Blue." _Blame me._ "He's just as much a captive of the Reach as we were." 

Nightwing watches him, eyes critical and analyzing. Bart meets his gaze without wavering. They have to know that this isn't Jaime's fault. Even if the world drowns in blood and suffocates in corpses, they have to know. It's not Jaime's fault. It never was. It never will be. 

* * *

Batgirl calls Bart over, relaying the plan to get Jaime back. He's heard whispers about it all day, but none meant directly for his ears.

Her words are confident, assuring him what they'll do should anything go awry, but she hasn't got to the part where Bart comes in. So he waits. And listens. 

"The temple is located in Bialya. Therefore, it's going to have to be an all girls mission. We can't risk any of our members being under Queen Bee's thrall," Batgirl explains.

Bart's tongue burns with the need to argue. There's no way he's going to accept that. He's not going to sit back while the rest of the Team does all the work. Jaime is _his_ mission, not theirs. And since they failed the first time, he's not entrusting the future to them again. Still, he'll never get anywhere by yelling. He takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself down. "Why is that exactly? Why an all girl's mission?" He already knows the answer. He's really just asking for clarification.

"Anyone who has the potential of being attracted to her poses a threat. That means she can affect the minds of men and... Some women."

_"Lesbians,"_ Zatanna clarifies, as she and Raquel enter the room. 

"Or bisexuals," Raquel clarifies with a smirk. 

They've clearly already been debriefed. 

Bart squares his shoulders. "I don't think Queen Bee will have an affect on me."

"Her abilities are powerful," Batgirl argues, and her eyes flick towards Garfield. It's been mentioned in passing how his mother was killed while under Queen Bee's influence. "We can't risk that. Impulse, I know you want to help, but—"

Bart juts his chin defiantly. "First of all, how do we even know Queen Bee will there? And even if she is she won't... She won't have an affect on _me._ "

He waits, watching for comprehension to dawn on the others' faces. He can narrow it down to the nanosecond that Batgirl clues in on his wording. Her eyes widen incrementally, but she composes herself immediately. "Alright, then. You and I will act as a distraction for Zatanna and Rocket to snare him. We'll station Robin and Wondergirl near the temple in Bialya. Robin, you'll need to stay out of sight until it's deemed that Queen Bee isn't within the vicinity."

"I'm going too," Gar announces, voice firm and decided. 

Batgirl hesitates, before nodding. "Alright. But do not enter the battle until we call in for reinforcements." 

He grins. "Noted." 

They set off, but they don't strike until well into twilight. The day passes by sluggishly, and Bart is fidgeting and restless by the time they catch Blue Beetle flying across El Paso. 

Bart sucks in so much air he feels dizzy. His muscles hum, and a frantic part of him wants to scratch and tear at his skin until he's burdened only by the blood and bone beneath. He can't imagine what facing Blue Beetle in his timeline would've been like. Growing up, he'd learned to hold his tongue, to choke down any words of protest. One toe out of line would result in torture or being on the receiving end of a plasma cannon. Even now, he's no different from any of the other slaves. He's cowardly and useless, and the only difference is he is foolish enough to not be hindered by that cowardice and fear and incompetency. He's the same at heart; has had the same fear drilled in him, but he remains to be something of a maverick. 

"Ready?" Batgirl whispers into his ear. She smells flowery, like a combination of perfume and scented shampoo. Things would be so much simpler if Bart cared for girly scents, and by extension of that, _girls_. But he doesn't. Doesn't think he'd be able to if he tried. When he closes his eyes, he imagines the faint scent of Jaime's skin—redolent of aftershave and cologne and Mexican spices and sweat. He remembers the scent that woke up parts of him that were better left sleeping.

Bart musters a small nod, but Batgirl has already begun moving into position. 

A cable shoots out, latching onto Blue's ankle, and jerking him backwards. He twists in midair, and Bart doesn't miss the look of surprise as he takes stock of Batgirl. Bart stays hidden for a moment longer.

"You know this won't hold," Blue calls tauntingly. 

Even hearing his voice is enough to make Bart feel sick. The chances of this plan even working are... well, exponentially low. And he knows, deep down, that this is their one and only shot. They can't afford to make any screw-ups. 

Batgirl grunts from the strain of holding onto the cable. "It'll hold for a couple seconds." 

Bart inhales, and everything vanishes to the periphery of his brain. His vision tunnels and all he can see is the traitorous face of his... He's not even sure what Jaime is to him anymore. What he even ever was. 

Batgirl continues, "and a couple seconds—" 

"—Is more than I need." He runs, moving as fast as his legs will allow. His heartbeat thuds in his chest. He's almost there. Blue Beetle is turning away. The cable tears. He jumps, arms outstretched like a bird in flight. And he's... made it. 

He hooks one arm over Blue Beetle's shoulder, and he can almost sense the older's annoyance. His presses his other gloved hand to the scarab and vibrates it against the metallic surface. They teeter precariously in midair before Blue's engines give out, and then they're falling, the ground rushing to meet them. Blue Beetle's armor cushions his fall, and Bart runs down a building to take control of his own descent. 

His chest heaves as he tries to calm his frenetic heart beat. 

Batgirl lands gracefully, her cape undulating behind her. She throws a spherical container of sleeping gas. Smoke flares up, obscuring Jaime from sight. "Sweet dreams, Blue," she calls out, letting her shoulders relax. Bart doesn't let his guard down; isn't able to. If anything, his heart only starts to beat faster. They wait for five seconds, then ten. The smoke is beginning to thin, the faint evening breeze slowly clearing it away. 

Bart opens his mouth to ask... to say... something, anything, really, but that's the precise moment that a pair of staples launch out rapid-fire, pinning Batgirl to a nearby tree. Bart watches as her head thunks back. He prays to anyone willing to listen that she hasn't been knocked unconscious. 

"One down, one to go," Blue's voice is deathly soft, and Bart almost doesn't hear it at first. 

He runs at Blue's form, knocking him to the rough tarmac again and again. The more time they give Zatanna to ready her magic, the stronger her hold on Blue will be. But it's all up to Bart now. He just has to keep stalling. 

Another staple shoots out, and he doesn't see it in time. His body flies backward, carried by the momentum. 

A groan tumbles unbidden from his lips, and his head lulls forwards. His recently injured head is screaming in protest.

What's left of the sun shines down on the metal of the scythe blades Blue Beetle's hands have elongated into. Bart can picture those same blades slicing through his skin like butter. He wonders what it would feel like to die that way, drowning in the blood filling up his lungs. And what would hurt more: the actual pain of the wound, or the betrayal behind it?

Time turns to slow motion as another dose of adrenaline releases from his nervous system. It isn't fight or flight. It's all fight. 

But Bart knows when to let loose and when to hold back. And right now, he needs to restrain himself, to trust in his teammates, trust in the plan they've decided on. He has faith, and if it's misplaced faith, then he can at least die among friends. Even if it means dying at the hands of the one friend that matters.

Blue Beetle advances. Bart can hear his heavy footfalls, see him out of the corner of his eyes. 

Blue Beetle's eyes are locked on Bart, not gracing Batgirl with a moment of his attention. He smiles down at Bart. "Time to play." 

It's not his words that bother Bart, per say. It's the smile. It's the smile that shifts something inside him. That evil smile makes his mind go back.  
Everything once so faded comes rushing to the forefront of his brain. His memories of the future, of his past, had become dulled and faded. Quiet, like music on the radio that's been turned down. It's all faded to background noise. But now, the screams and sobs and curses and prayers are back, roaring in his ears. The screams of a once proud man being bruised and bloodied for refusing to bow to the Reach's power. The sobs of a mother uncovering the bones of a loved one. The curses of a drunk who wields his foul tongue because it is the last weapon he has. The broken prayers of a child that doesn't understand, that can't grasp why the world is like this. The prayers that always, without fail, fall on deaf ears. 

Bart can't go back to that. He can't endure that a second time. 

He keeps his head tipped forward, hair falling into his eyes. _Don't move, don't move._ The tip of Blue's blade catches Bart's chin, forcing his head up. He feels Blue Beetle's eyes run over his features languidly. _Don'tmovedon'tmovedon'tmove._ This is the best way to stop Blue, for now. Trust in his teammates. Trust in Rocket and Zatanna. Trust in Batgirl and Nightwing's plan. Trust that the others know what they're doing. 

Blue Beetle traces Bart's face with his blades, the razor metal drawing open fine, precise cuts. He steps back to admire his handiwork. 

Bart stays still, not even allowing himself to breathe. He senses, rather than sees, Blue raise his arm up, prepared to deal another blow. His blade never makes contact with Bart's skin. 

Instead, it slams across a blue, semi-transparent force bubble, that is soon fortified with Zatanna's magic. 

* * *

"Release me, and I'll make your deaths painless," Blue Beetle says, his voice oddly mechanical. Zatanna and Raquel exchange a look with twin smirks on their faces.

Bart's nails dig faint crescents in his palms as he waits. They're almost there, almost at Bialya. Just a little longer. 

"You're not really going to attempt this, are you, _cariño_?" Blue asks, switching tactics. 

Bart's breath hitches in his throat. He scrunches his eyes shut, before focusing his gaze on some point in the distance. 

"You know what'll happen. Tell them what'll happen." 

"If only these bubbles were sound proof," Rocket sighs. 

"They're going to die, and you know it. But I'll show mercy if they release me now. Come on, Bart. Haven't you screwed up enough?" 

Bart flinches. "Shut up." He can feel a pair of gazes on his back, but he pretends not to notice, forces himself to ignore how stagnant the air suddenly tastes. 

"You... didn't tell them, did you?" Blue asks, his voice sounding genuinely surprised. "Didn't tell them how this is all your fault? How instead of ensuring the safety of the future, you were busy _fooling around_. What do you hope to accomplish now? You don't intend to kill poor Jaime, do you?" 

Bart grinds the heel of his palm into his face, massaging the headache beginning to form. He can tell what Blue is doing. He's trying to manipulate them into giving him answers so that he can pass on the info to the Ambassador, or something. 

"The Reach is unstoppable. But give in now, and I'll personally ensure you have a place among our ranks, Bart Allen. That's what you really want, isn't it?"

A laugh bubbles up in Bart's throat, but the sound comes out strangled. "Y'know, Blue," he snorts, "that offer was almost as cheesy as the advertisements for Reach Peach drinks!" 

"You're not thinking clearly, _mi amor_." 

Bart twists in his seat to level Blue Beetle a glare. "Yeah. That's because of my concussion." 

Blue Beetle falls silent, his eyes glowering with contempt. Bart turns back around, hugging his stomach as they approach the Bialyan temple. The sight of it evokes a myriad of anxiety and hopefulness in him. A false sort of hopefulness, he's sure. 

* * *

When Zatanna cleanses Jaime of the Reach influence, Bart is able to breathe for the first time all day. 

All of the pain and dread and anxiety leeches out of him. He's so relieved he could collapse. But instead, he forces his legs not to give out. He watches, transfixed as Jaime, the _real_ embraces Zatanna. Bart's feet move of their own accord towards Jaime, equal parts apprehensive and anticipating. Jaime meets his hand in a high five, but it lingers, his brown hand curling around Bart's pale one. Jaime gives his hand a little squeeze. That small gesture is a promise, if nothing else. It says, _'It'll be ok. We'll work things out.'_ And maybe, just maybe, means _'I forgive you.'_

* * *

Jaime and Bart are paired together for the final mission against the Reach. He thinks maybe things can go back to the way they were. He is, of course, wrong.

They lose Wally. Nightwing quits the Team soon after ( _resigned_ is the word he'd used.) Artemis is distant. 

Jaime, on the other hand, isn't distant; he's not around at all. 

Bart's tried to talk to him, but when ever he approaches, Jaime miraculously has somewhere extremely important to be. 

Bart can't stand being around his grandparents. Barry always gets a glazed look in his eyes when he sees Bart, and after Iris accidentally called him "Wally," and had to excuse herself to cry, he only finds guilt in their company. 

Now, most of the time, Bart keeps to himself, detaches himself from everyone else. Black Canary's told him that his "apathy" is only temporary, a way of compartmentalizing his grief. He's not so sure. He doesn't think things will ever return to the way they were. That doesn't stop him from making sporadic visits to a certain household in El Paso, Texas. He never goes inside, never rings the doorbell. Just listens and watches from afar. For now, that is enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments motivate me to write faster ;)))


	3. Rectify

In the darkness, Bart feels hands on him. Warm, careful, reverent hands. They move gently over his torso, roaming from his face to caress his chest, his waist, his inner thigh. But all too soon, the hands grow cold and lifeless. Cold, like metal. Like _armor._

* * *

The ferrous taste of blood pervades Bart's mouth. He must have bit his cheek sometime in the night, and reopened the wound during training by accident. In an odd way, he almost likes the taste. Not that it's a pleasant flavor or anything (he's not _that_ weird.) It's more that the bitter taste of copper is grounding. It wakes him up. Reminds him that, no, this isn't some horrible nightmare, this really is reality. Reality is cruel and terrible and twisted, but at least it's real. The taste of blood in his mouth is real. What he's experiencing here and now and real. The people screaming in his dreams, the wreckage and the ash, however, are _not_ real. Not any more.

A jarring hand taps Bart on the shoulder, and he has to fight not to flinch, not to snap at whoever touched him because right now, the physical contact really isn't welcome. 

"Black Canary wants to see you," Cassie says in a chipper voice, her eyes blue and clear and oblivious of Bart's depressed mood. She smiles as she waits for his reply, and he lets his eyes wander to hers. There's no darkness, no fear swirling in their crystal depths. Just energy and contentment. The sight of those untainted eyes makes a pulse of envy rattle in his chest. 

He forces himself to breathe through his nose. "Oh," he says, then, "thanks."  
With that, he moves in a trance, his body walking on autopilot to Black Canary's office. She has one set up here at the Watchtower and one at Star Labs. Bart has been to both of them.  
When he reaches the door, his hand hovers as if to knock, before he thinks better of it. Instead, he opens the door tentatively, not sure what the purpose of this visit is. He has 'sessions' with Black Canary every two weeks, per Iris' insistence. If Bart's being honest with himself, he thinks Iris needs those counselling sessions more than he does. 

"Bart," Black Canary greets him, her voice a perfect balance of professionalism and friendliness. "Have a seat." She gestures to Bart's usual spot. Which is now being occupied by two chairs. One of which is already taken. 

"Jaime?" Bart blurts. Jaime flinches, but offers him a small nod of acknowledgement. His eyes, however, never leave the floor. 

Black Canary watches the exchange, before clearing her throat. "Now," I take it you both know why you're here." 

Bart chokes soundlessly on his next breath. It feels like his heart is failing, and yet, his pulse is roaring in his ears. Neither Jaime nor Bart say anything. Most likely because neither of them can. 

"There's a bit of a concern on the Team regarding you two. Aqualad has brought it to my attention that the two of you haven't been working together as of late. Is this true?"

Bart fixates on the notebook on Dinah's desk and nods.  
She steeples her hands. "Now, we don't expect everyone on the Team to be best friends, but out there, on a mission, you're entrusting your lives to each other, so at the very least we expect you to be able to work together."

Bart watches out of the corner of his eye as Jaime crosses his legs. His hands are clenched tightly together in his lap. 

"Do you think you two can manage that?" Black Canary continues. Once again, neither one answers. "Okay," she hums. "Why don't we start with: when did things first become strained between you two? Nothing leaves this room."

"When I was on-mode," Jaime says softly, his voice hushed, as if some part of him believes that saying it out loud will make it happen again. 

"Things became strained _while_ you were on-mode? Or after?" 

"While. During." 

Black Canary tilts her head, scrutinizing the two of them. Despite his hunched posture, Jaime seems much more composed than Bart. The latter's vision is beginning to blur, his mouth going dry and throat beginning to stick together. He doesn't want to be here. This is the closest he's been physically near Jaime in months, but, right now, all he wants to do is leave. He can't stand being victim to Black Canary's analytic gaze. She's smart, clever, and just by looking at him, she'll _know._ She's going to figure out what really happened. Going to know how Bart failed, how he... How he let himself be fooled. This is his fault. All of it. 

He sucks in a tight breath. Once Dinah knows, it won't be long before she tells the rest of the League, then they'll all know how he chose to accept a beautiful lie rather than a horrible truth. How weak he is, when it really matters. They can't have someone like him on the Team. Someone cowardly. Someone—

_"—Bart."_

He jerks his head up. "W-what?" 

She gives a thin-lipped smile. "Did you hear anything I just said?" 

Bart shakes his head wordlessly. 

"I asked if there's anything you'd like to say to Jaime?" 

_'Yes'_ his brain screams. There are a lot of things he wants to say to Jaime, including _'I'm so sorry'_ and _'please don't hate me._ ' Except, he can't say any of them, because the words are too thick, and they get caught in the scrape of his throat. He swallows down the gluey paste, the bitter taste of things unsaid, and opts to simply shake his head. 

Black Canary purses her lips. Obviously this isn't one of her more productive counseling sessions. She opens her mouth to say more, but suddenly flinches, bringing a hand to her head. She tilts her head to the side, eyes narrowing so that she really does look like a bird of prey. 

"Sorry," Dinah says finally. "J'onn was sending me a message through the psychic link. If you don't mind me stepping out for a second...?" 

Bart shakes his head, and Jaime mumbles something incoherent. 

Black Canary's absence means a stifling sort of awkwardness, a silence Bart wants to fill but no longer knows how. When he glances to the side, he realizes he's already leaning towards Jaime, subconsciously gravitating towards him. That in itself is enough to make his throat tighten. He clears it as quietly as he can, before risking a glance at Jaime. The older teen is fidgeting, eyes looking at the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but at Bart. He frowns, silently willing Jaime to look at him, to stop ignoring him. _'It's okay if you hate me._ ' Bart thinks silently, but he knows Jaime can't hear; the psychic link hasn't been enabled between them. He just wishes he could communicate this silently. Jaime can hate him. Jaime can tell him what an awful person he is, because really, they're supposed to be friends and yet Bart couldn't tell the difference between the real Jaime... or... or... 

Jaime must catch Bart's blatant staring, because he's suddenly sitting rigid in his chair. 

Bart glances back at the closed door. Black Canary doesn't appear to be coming back anytime soon. He hums, before turning back to Jaime. Well, now or never. 

"So..." he starts, brain buffering. "Uhh... come here often?" 

"Every Tuesday," Jaime replies quietly, answering too quickly for it to be a lie. 

"Whoa, wait, really?" Bart asks in surprise. 

Jaime tenses. "Si." 

"Oh. Wow. I just... I didn't know you were in therapy with Dinah. I'm in here every Thursday," he adds as an afterthought. 

Something in Jaime's expression softens. "How... how come?" 

Bart remembers bitterly a time when Jaime didn't sound so hesitant, so cautious talking to him. When he'd tease him or roll his eyes or make an exasperated remark. Bart would give anything to go back to that, but even though he's a time-traveler, he knows it's not possible. He shrugs nonchalantly. "Eh, the thing about being from a different timeline is, even though we stopped the Reach, doesn't stop the nightmares from before." He gives a weak chuckle. 

Jaime stares for a minute, eyes widening as if he's just been slapped. 

"S-sorry," Bart says. The comment wasn't meant as an insult to him, but by the looks of it, Jaime sure took it as one. 

"Don't be," Jaime shrugs him off. "It's fine." Yet despite Jaime's cool reticence, Bart's sure he's more upset than he's letting on.

Bart examines his hands. His nails are jagged and uneven and he's bitten the nail beds raw. He licks his lips. "You can leave, you know. I'll make up some lame-o excuse when Black Canary gets back. You don't... you shouldn't have to be around me after what I did to you." 

Jaime lurches forwards at a speed that could rival the Flash, and he clutches at Dinah's desk for purchase. 

"You didn't take advantage of me, Bart." 

"But I did," Bart says in a tremulous voice, because even though he knows the words are true, but they're still hard to force out. 

Jaime meets his eyes now, earthy brown on light green. "No you didn't."

Bart's face screws up because this is so ridiculously unfair. Even now, Jaime's trying to make him feel better, showing him kindness that he clearly doesn't deserve. Jaime Reyes is the last person on this earth that deserves to suffer. He's kind to a fault, and all he's done is try to fight the Reach but he still lost control to them, albeit for only a little while. He should never have had to suffer. And Bart caused him a great deal of that suffering. He worries his lip between his teeth, gnawing at the skin there, trying to distract his body. _Please don't cry,_ he wills his body to obey. It doesn't. 

"I'm sor-"

"Don't be," Jaime interrupts harshly. He stands over Bart, and there's something dark in his gaze, a shadow that's only now been touched by the light. "You didn't do anything wrong. _I_ did."

"N-no," Bart hiccups, His chest hurts. It hurts and he's not sure why, all he knows is that he can barely breathe. 

"It's my fault Wally's dead," Jaime murmurs. "I never picked up that last MFD. And what I did to you..." 

"But you didn't!" Bart exclaims with all the earnestness of a child, and solemnity of an adult. "You didn't do anything to me. It was the Reach controlling you."

Jaime shakes his head rapidly. His chest rises and falls at alarming rates. "No, no, you don't understand. I did that to you, not the Reach. I can't explain it, but when I was on-mode, I wanted to make you hurt. Watching the look on your face, seeing you cry and knowing I did that to you... I don't know why, but it felt _good_. You have no idea..." 

"You can't blame yourself. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine." 

"N-no. No. It's so hard to explain b-but sometimes the Ambassador would say things into this... this transmitter and I'd say whatever he said. Like I was literally a machine. And other times I felt like myself... but different. I'd say things to hurt you and I enjoyed it. And honestly, I'm not sure where the scarab ends and I begin. I keep thinking of him as this entity attached to me, but it's more than that. I am Khaji da. But I'm also Jaime Reyes." He sounds so heart-broken, the sight of him in pain wakes up parts of Bart's heart that are better left sleeping. 

Bart moves to touch Jaime's hand, but the gesture only makes him recoil. 

"I can't do this," Jaime shakes his head rapidly, stumbling away from the desk and towards the door. Black Canary is right outside, hand raised as if she were just about to open the door herself. He brushes right past her, not even hesitating once. 

A minute passes. Then two. Eventually, Black Canary regains her wits and shuffles from the doorway to her chair. "Kid Flash?" She sounds resigned, and Bart almost doesn't react to the name. It still hasn't sunken in. Wally was Kid Flash, not him. He's not even Impulse; that was just a name he'd donned upon Nightwing and Robin and Beastboy's use of it. And they only called him that because of his 'impulsive' nature. But then, he's not really as impulsive as others seem to think. Maybe over trivial matters, sure, but for the most part, everything he's done so far in the past has been a carefully calculate move. That leaves him as Bartholomew Allen. Yet, he hadn't even known his parents for long in the future, and surnames weren't kept there. They were replaced with serial numbers, assigned to each and every slave. _Not Kidflash. Not Impulse. Not an Allen._ He's not quite sure what he is. Maybe just Bart. Those four letters to refer to his entire existence. 

"Bart," Dinah amends, and this time he remembers to answer.

"Y-yeah?" 

He meets her eyes, dreading what she's going to say next. She stares for a few heavy seconds, before shaking her head. "Go after him."

He mouths at words his brain no longer knows how to form. Unable to produce a proper verbal response, he nods. There's something knowing in Black Canary's gaze as she watches him rise to his feet. He turns on his heel, and does what does best. He _runs._

* * *

The light from El Paso streetlamps calls out to Bart like a beacon, tiny glows beckoning him onwards. The sky is overcast, though it's seldom anything other than sunny in Texas, at least when it's not rain season, that is. A cool wind weaves through Bart's unruly chestnut hair, making it even more wild and unkempt. He's not entirely sure if the wind is naturally occurring, or only generated due to the speed he's running at. By now, his breathing is also laboured, but it's not so much from running at super speed as it is from his growing anxiety. 

The amount of traffic on the streets has thinned, rush-hour having ended just recently. There's an old man walking his dog, a woman mowing her front lawn with one of those old 'push mowers', but other than that, the area is practically deserted. The quiet can be nice, sometimes. Lately, though, Bart had come to really appreciate noise. Conversing voices, cars rumbling, any background noise to provide some form of distraction. 

With a thick swallow, he slows down upon reaching Jaime's neighbourhood, only now realizing he's still in his super hero attire. He remembers the first time he'd asked Jaime to hang out, how panicked the older boy had been seeing him dressed as Impulse. He wonders if Jaime still cares about protecting his secret identity, or if that is a worry that's faded to the back of his mind. 

Bart licks his lips as he traipses up their front porch. He can't recall when his lips got so impossibly dry, just shy of cracking. Now that he's here, he's not quite sure what to do. What if Jaime refuses to see him? He could use the excuse that Black Canary sent him. But should he ring the doorbell? What if no one answers? What if Jaime just pretends he's not home? He can see a light in Jaime's bedroom window, so he's pretty sure Jaime is home, but still...

He could always phase through the exterior of the house and enter Jaime's bedroom, but that would probably be crossing certain limits.

In the end, he doesn't do either. The front door swings open without warning, smacking him squarely in the face. He stumbles backwards. 

"Oh! _Lo siento!_ I did not see you there." 

Bart looks up to see a middle-aged woman with brown skin and ebony hair that's been pulled into a loose ponytail. 

"I was just coming outside to bring the mail in," she continues. "Are you alright?" 

Bart rubs at his nose. "Oh, ah, yeah, I'm totally crash, thanks Mrs. Reyes." 

Bianca Reyes cocks her head minutely to the side, before passes in her eyes. Jaime had accidentally let slip a while ago that he was friends with Impulse. "Oh, Bart! It's good to see you! How are you, honey?" 

He flashes her a winning, plastic grin. "Never been better." A lie. A really big one, too. He can't bring himself to feel guilty about lying to her though. If he told the truth, she would only worry about him. And he suspects she worries enough about Jaime. 

"Why don't you come inside? I can whip up something for dessert?" 

"N-no, that's fine. I was actually hoping to speak to Jaime."

She smiles, making the crows-feet dotting her eyes even more prominent. "I'll go get him." She plods back inside. "Mi hijo! Your friend is here to see you." 

Jaime calls back something Bart doesn't make out. He picks at a hangnail that's been bothering him as he waits. 

Jaime's expression tightens as soon as he steps outside and sees just which 'friend' is at the door. 

"We need to talk," Bart says, but his voice comes out less sure than he'd like. 

A sigh rattles Jaime's shoulders. "Thought we already did." 

"Jaime, _please._ " 

Jaime looks down at his feet. "Fine. L-let's get out of here though. I don't want... my parent's can't hear any of this." Bart nods his assent. 

"Should we... the desert?" 

Bart nods. "Race you there," he says shyly. He's come to think of that spot as _their_ place, even though there isn't anything to them. But it's where they first started to connect. Where they exchanged catch phrases, and Bart made a 'master piece' out of loose stones, and Jaime was almost captured by Aqualad and Tigress... 

For a few moments, the only sounds between them are Bart's harsh breathing and the sound of Jaime's armor unfurling from the scarab. Neither of them say anything as they take off. They let the roar of the wind fill the vacant void between them. At least until they stop. 

Rosy color is starting to flush the sky, sunset arriving much faster than Bart anticipated. Today has been a strange day, with some moments passing sluggishly, their own sort of eternity, and others passing in the time it takes to blink. It leaves him feeling disoriented, with a sense of detachment. Sometimes it's still hard to process that any of this is real. In the place of ash and decrepit ruins are proud skyscrapers and heavily furnished homes. Where inhibitor collars used to be fastened around people's necks, there are now necklaces and chokers and scarves in its place. And instead of a cruel, hulking Reach warrior, there is Jaime Reyes, who wormed his way through the chips and cracks in Bart's heart. 

Bart kicks at a stray rock, sending it skittering away. 

"Lo siento," Jaime murmurs, deactivating his armor before settling on the dusty earth. 

"Not your fault, Blue."

Jaime pulls his knees in towards his chest, as if trying to make himself seem as small as possible. "But it _is._ "

"Not your fault," Bart repeats vehemently, irritation flaring at Jaime's stubbornness and willingness to blame himself.

"Stop saying that!" Jaime exclaims. "I took advantage of you. I tricked you, manipulated you, influenced you. I almost killed you!" 

Their argument suddenly seems to have a pulse, and Bart can feel it kicking. "You're being stupid! None of this was your fault!" Before he realizes it, he's on his feet, trying to gain a height advantage. Jaime soon stands up to, and now Bart has to look up to meet his eyes. 

"I already told you. I was still in control. Partially, at least. I know you're trying to make me feel better, but you're just making things worse." 

"Making it worse? I'm just trying to help!" 

"Cállate! I just... I can't do this. I can't be around you yet. I'm sorry." 

Bart's hand dart's out, grabbing blindly for Jaime. "I came to the past for you! I could've had a life in the future, a moded one, sure, but it was my life, and I gave it up for you!"

"Well, you shouldn't have."

"Are you _serious?_ "

"I killed people. I couldn't even remember at first. I think I blocked it from my memory, or maybe Khaji blocked it for me, but I started seeing things in my dreams. People screaming, people bleeding. Their organs spilling onto the pavement. I did that, Bart." He releases a heavy breath that rushes painfully from his lungs. "How am I supposed to look my parents in the eye? How am I supposed to watch Milagro grow up, knowing what I did?"

Bart shakes his head forcefully, his unkempt, wind blown hair flying in all directions. "You didn't, though."

"But I did. When I was first off mode I was so relieved. There was still a battle going on, so I didn't have time to think. To remember. But I remember now." Hot tears burn searing streaks down Bart's face as he watches Jaime's composure crack. "I just want to know why you didn't kill me? Knowing what I become, why didn't you?"

"I was going to," Bart mutters, and the words seem to congeal in his mouth, falling out like sludge. "But that was before I met you."

Jaime's face screws up, and for all that they've done, for all the good and bad they've accomplished, they're still just kids. Not ready for the callous reality of the world, but unable to retreat to the ignorant sanctuary of childhood where the world is good and beautiful and everything is okay. A sob escapes Jaime, and when he meets Bart's eyes, understanding lances through Bart. Somehow he knows what's coming next, because he's spent enough time with Jaime—watching and observing and analyzing—but he's not ready to hear it. His first instinct is to run, but that won't solve anything. Speed up time, slow it down, it's all the same, really. Nothing could have prepared him for Jaime's next words.

"I wish you had killed me."  
He's slammed into Jaime's chest before he's even register that he's moved. They both crash to the ground, and there's gravel beneath them. It's probably embedded in Jaime's elbows and exposed arms, but Bart can't bring himself to care.  
He grabs a fistful of Jaime's shirt, clutching the handful of fabric like it's his lifeline.  
"Don't," Bart shudders, and, God, he's shaking so bad. "Don't ever say that again, Jaime."

"Why?" His voice comes out as a strained. "Wally's dead because of me. Why can't you just see that I'd be better off-"

 _"No!"_ Bart can't even bring himself to look at Jaime anymore. How can he say something like that? How can he...?

"Why?"

_Because I'm so hopelessly in love with you, that it's almost getting painful to watch._ "I came here for you," he says instead. "You were all there was in my future, and you're all there is in the past. I gave up that life for you, so how dare you go and waste yours?" A sob wracks his frame. "H-how dare you?" 

Bart clutches at Jaime, leaning down to cry in the juncture of his shoulder and neck. He holds on so tight their bones knock together. Bart's never needed something as desperately as this; the closeness, the solidness of him, the comfort of being near something that is alive, not dead or nearly-dead like so many in the future.

"I-it hurts," Jaime gasps. "I never wanted to hurt you. But the things I said... The things I did to you... I can't ever take that back."

Bart's face is wet and tear-stained, and there's probably snot on his face too. He sniffles, wiping his tears on his arms. "I don't want you to."

Jaime doesn't say anything else, so Bart doesn't either. They cry. They cry until their eyes are puffy and red, until their lips taste of salt, and neither of them have the energy to cry anymore. 

* * *

"I tried cutting myself," Jaime admits, and Dinah nods her head, unsurprised by the revelation. The two had agreed to joint therapy sessions, per Black Canary's suggestion. It's easier to talk, in a way. Easier for Bart knowing he's not the only damaged one in the room. "I mean, it didn't work. As soon as Khaji Da, er, the scarab registered my intent to harm myself, it stopped me." 

"Stopped you how?" Dinah asks. 

"Oh, well this appendage sort of restrained my wrists until the urge sort of passed. I talked to the scarab. He's... _It's_ not going to take over unless I give permission." 

She nods in understanding. "Why did you try cutting yourself, Jaime?" How she works sophistication and sympathy into her tone at once, Bart will never know. 

He shrugs, the movement stiff and awkward. "I was already hurting."

"So you felt you needed to hurt more?" 

"No... Yes. I-I don't know." 

"Hmm." Her gaze shifts. "What do you think, Bart?" 

"Oh, ah," he scratches the side of his nose. "I guess sometimes people cut because they feel empty? Or because they feel too full?" He doesn't add that he used to draw red patterns across his skin with glass. It hadn't been that he wanted to hurt himself, though. More that when his collar was first deactivated, he'd been fascinated by his healing abilities. There was something inexplicably mesmerizing about watching his skin knit back together, sometimes before a single drop of blood could escape. 

"Is this at all how you feel?" she asks, diverting her attention back to Jaime. 

"I guess." 

She bites her lip. "I don't want to put words in your mouth."

"I guess, mostly, I'm just _tired._ " 

Bart could relate. They were both so, _so_ tired. 

* * *

Bart approaches Jaime after returning from their latest mission, and a successful one, at that. They're both sweaty and shaky from the adrenaline high, their breath leaving them in rapid puffs. Bart's found that Jaime's still just as distant as when he first got off-mode. The only difference is that he's no longer distant to _Bart._ The others have yet to evoke a full conversation out of him. "Um, look," he starts, his mouth speaking ahead of his brain. Jaime turns his full attention on Bart, eyes expectant, if not a little weary. "I'm not sure if we can go back to the way we were, but we should at least try."

Jaime closes his eyes. "Yeah okay. So... What now, exactly?"

Bart sucks in another ragged breath. "This is going to sound weird coming from a time traveler, but instead of going back to the way things were, I think we need to try going forward."

"Oh. Okay. Uh, sure." Jaime looks skeptical, unsure of what Bart's suggestion entailed.

He licks his lips, clasping and unclasping his hands. "So, do you think I could spend some downtime with my buddy Blue?"

Jaime's lips make some semblance of a smile. "I'd like that." 

His response warms Bart's insides, and he thinks maybe they'll be okay. _They'll be okay._

In an hour's time, they're both settled on Jaime's living room couch, watching the TV but not really seeing it. Bart shifts a bit closer than is socially acceptable, but Jaime doesn't voice complaint. 

"Jaime?" Bart asks softly. 

The older teen turns his head towards him. 

He doesn't want to bring it up again. He wants to forget about the whole ordeal, not continuously pick at the scab. But he's not one to keep his thoughts to himself, and they're starting to fester. "When you were on-mode and Blue Beetle said he loved me," he hesitates. Does he really want to know the answer? Even if it's not the one he wants to hear. "Did you mean it?" 

Jaime's eyes widen, and in the shadows of his eyes is fear, plain and clear for anyone to see. It's a raw, honest look that he doesn't seem capable of covering up. "Yes. I did." 

"Do you still?" 

"Y-yes. _Si. Te amo,_ Bart." 

If someone asks, Bart won't be able to tell who initiated the kiss. All he knows is that they both seemed to surge forward at the same time. An intrinsic, unstoppable force. Jaime's lips are soft, like the first time. They fit perfectly against Bart, connecting the two of them together. When they pull a part, Bart cups Jaime's face. Holding him and looking at him, simply because he can. "I love you so much," Bart breathes, and Jaime captures his lips, trapping his words and inhaling them. 

The first kiss was a question, the second, an answer.

Jaime squeezes Bart's hand. _I love you._ He squeezes back. 

_I know._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for this fic! It took me a number of hours to finish it because I kept editing parts out and rephrasing stuff, but thanks for sticking with it (:
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment if you enjoyed, or come visit me on tumblr :)


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